Sunset Tataouine
by Shang (shang@shang-fic.net)

Website: http://www.shang-fic.net/

Story link: http://www.shang-fic.net/standalone/sunsettataouine/index.html

Rating: no sex scene this time

Pairing: Sk/K

Spoiler: The timeline: after ‘the Truth.’ The stage: Foum Tataouine.

Category: H/C, Romance

Summary: First Spain, then Russia; in Tunisia, is Skinner going to find his destination at last?

Disclaimer: http://www.shang-fic.net/

Archive: the Basement; anywhere else, contact me first please.

Beta: A big thank you to Alex Neko who quickly betaed the spelling and grammar right before X'mas, 2004. I did a slight change after it being betaed, so any mistakes you find will be my fault.

Note: If you don't like what happened in 'White Russia', read this one as another sequel to 'Spanish Eyes'. The story was set at Foum Tataouine, a place in Tunisia that people saw at the ending of the FTF movie. For all I could research on the Internet, there's no cornfield existing around this city, but I might be wrong. Most agriculture, including corn belts, are spreading in the middle and northern parts of the country, with some along the coast. Yes, I know the film didn't shoot in Tunisia and it's actually olive fields around Foum Tataouine, but for continuity's sake, I just had to play along -- there was a cornfield.

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I shot him. Fucking shot him.

Never once did I raise a finger to pull the trigger any of the endless times that he tortured me with that damned palm pilot. I was dancing along with him in this fatal game. I was willing to play along with him to achieve whatever his goal was - all because I loved him.

Blindly.

Still...I shot him. Ended his life with my own hands just like I promised to - kill him when the time came. Guess that was meant to be Mulder; he's always our lethal weapon. The first fire was a hair away from really killing Alex. I wanted him to back off - but we both knew that that wouldn't happen. The second fire was filled with my hesitation; I didn't want to be the one doing the justice. But he pushed. "Shoot Mulder," he said; only it seemed he was calling the shot, asking for his own death sentence.

So I did as he wished. And when I saw my dead lover lying on the concrete ground, I was determined to go with him...

Security guards surrounded us before I even had the chance to touch my forever-love, or to pull the trigger and end myself. Disarmed; interrogated; paperwork. I was too numbed, too dead to grieve what I had lost. It was as if I was going through the motions of a black-and-white vision, silently.

Alex was out of the picture, but the game had to go on. I wondered: Why on earth did he deserve to die?

I began to spend more time on the field with my agents, involved deeply with the X-files. I wanted to finish whatever Alex left waiting to be achieved - or maybe I just wanted to die. Following the busy year, with our friends dead, my agents gone, and me forced to retire, I was totally cut off from any connection with the X-files. I was one man, alone and suddenly thrown out of the game.

I got drunk, hated Alex and blamed the world. Eventually, I got past the self pity.

'Alex died.' I wrote the two simple words in my diary and sealed it with a pen that ran out of ink on the last dot.

That was a couple of years ago.

So what happened over the past ten years of my serving in the FBI, of my fate twisting with those of Mulder and Alex, seems like a lifetime ago, like a dream; like I can forget about the upcoming alien invasion. I'm no longer in the picture. Only Alex still lives in my heart, vividly alive in my sweet dreams. And it's not too bad to be the one that lives to remember his beloved. All the memories… I can paint them however I like. Sometimes I even think he's a figure I made up, after losing my sanity.

But I became sober. Eventually.

I'm my own man now - teaching at self-defense organization, thanks again to my old friend Antonio. He was unbelievable; proposed to me, then, when I turned him down, married another guy soon after. A bodyguard, Antonio certainly is built, and full of energy, and he certainly has his charm - yes, I admit he's probably even more attractive than Alex, and so were many gentlemen I met at Antonio's wedding. But they don't appeal to me; they're just men. Males. I guess I'm not gay after all - or maybe I'm already married to Alex.

With three daughters-in-law, Antonio's old house is overcrowded, so one of his husband's girls, the only grown-up, is currently living in my condo. Energetic college student that she is, Judy has annoyed the hell out of me. I can't believe a girl can mess up a place like she does. I hope her 'dads' find a bigger house soon, or I'll pay the money to find a dorm for her.

Coming home is a nightmare.

"Judy," I call, and heave a sigh after I get no answer. I walk to the guest room and turn off the over-loud music. A tiny timetable on her battered desk tells me that she is in class now - the final before summer break. Apparently, she left in a hurry, as always. I turn off the AC in her room, pick up the empty basket on the bed, return to the living room and begin to scrape everything she scattered on the furniture into the basket.

Then I freeze in the middle of clearing the couch, the basket dropping to the floor from my shaking hands. Here it is, a magazine, pages turned, and a face I could never mistake partly covered beneath a heart-shaped birthday card.

"Alex!" I try the word I didn't think I would ever say again in this lifetime.

Frantically, I try to find the publishing date on the magazine, and am frustrated to find none until I realize that it's a Japanese magazine. Only the title is written in English: 'Most Valuable Bachelor of the Year.'

Damn, what year?

It looks like a rank or a vote, about fifty faces lined in rows with a square of smaller words under each picture. Searching my memories of the Japanese I learned in my early years at the Bureau, I read the katakana writing under Alex's photo. "O-A- SISU... NO... PURINSU" ? I regret that I can't understand what it means.

"Uncle Walter?"

I'm startled by Judy, who suddenly comes into my field of vision. "When did you get back?"

"Just now. Are you all right? I called you several times." She throws her backpack at the door and comes to gather her other belongings, now spreading out of the basket beside my thigh. "Why are you sitting on the floor?" Judy puts her hand on my arm, looking at me concernedly. Sometimes, she makes me remember Scully. They are nothing alike - except the wrinkle between the eyebrows when they frown.

I blink dumbly; how long have I dazed on his photo? I reluctantly loosen my grip, eyeing it one last time before Judy takes it back.

"Anyone you know, Uncle Walter?" Judy asks me with enthusiasm, like I might be able to introduce one of the men to her. Well, if I really saw what I saw a minute before, I might be.

"You mean personally? I'm not sure... when was it published?"

"Last year. Why?"

My heart skips a beat. I ask the dumb question just to be sure, even though I've guessed the answer. "They're all living people?"

"Of course." Judy laughs out loud, fingering those foreign words as though sharing secret with her kind. "Look, it's about which guy you’d choose to marry if you were a-"

"Okay, yeah, I get the picture." This conversation makes me uncomfortable already; girls' talk. But I have to know. Pointing to Alex, I breathe cautiously, "Judy... actually, I'd like to learn what it says about this one."

Judy gives me a once over, puts away the magazine and gently takes my hands. "Uncle Walt... you should go out, date someone."

Well, either she must have heard something from Antonio, or I'm that obvious - a lonely old man to earn her pity. Immediately, I want to end our conversation and the closeness I’m allowing her. The last thing I need is a daughter.

Withdrawing my hands, I dodge her words nonchalantly. "Busy."

Judy catches my fingers before I walk away. "Busy... is another word for lonely."

I give her hand a squeeze before go upstairs. "Message received, smart girl."

The night is still young. After the shower is turned off in the guest bathroom, Judy seems very quiet in her room. I don't hear the killer music she always plays downstairs.

Seventy-five, seventy-six... at eighty-three, I give up doing the push-ups. Lying on my back on the floor, sweating, I deliberate between going for a shower and just laying here and drifting off to sleep. Then I hear measured footfalls moving towards my room. I jump for my gun.

"Uncle Walter?"

Damn, old habits die hard when my mind is on the old times. I put the gun away silently, but I don’t answer the door. The light in my room is off, I'm flustered, and I have only my boxers on. Even if I put on my clothes, she'll probably get the wrong idea about what an old man was doing in his bed sweating like a dog when the AC is on its full power.

After a moment, something slips under my door. I hear Judy walk away and then the jingle of her keys as she goes out the front door. I forgot - she has a party to go tonight.

Turning on the light, I see it's the magazine she slipped under the door. A note has been attached on the cover. She's going out for her midnight party, and here's the translation I asked about earlier.

I read on. "Exports: Most successful new-rise businessman in Tunisia. Applies new employment opportunities in agriculture, earns high loyalty from his laborers with good payment comparing to the others in current economic environment and has built solid working relationships successfully. This handsome bachelor shoulders agriculture products worth of 0.2 billion US dollars in the past year with just one arm!"

With just one arm.

The next thing I know, I'm sitting in my car at the long-term park near the airport. It's a real shock - I don't remember packing, driving, or even if I locked my door or left a note for Judy. My mind went blank and my body acted on instinct. If Mulder was here, he'd say I've been kidnapped by the aliens. I snort at my silly thought, remembering the confident smile of the long-lost agent.

I check what I've packed: wallet, credit card, passport, travel kit, some clothes, cell phone and my gun. Talk about packing in ten minutes. I can do this with my eyes closed. Then, regretfully, I pull out my gun and secure it safely under the driver’s seat. I don't have the privilege of carrying a gun through customs anymore.

Suddenly, I’m siezed by a sense of loss.

You, Walter Skinner - and with what army? - are going to find the man that is now only a ghost in your daydreams?

"He's dead, Walter. Dead, dead, dead." I bang my forehead on the wheel, and hear myself wail, "NO...”

The world seems crash down, burying me alive. I'm having a breakdown and I can't help myself. It's been awhile since the last time I lost it - that was after Mulder's hearing. In the hurry of us escaping from his cell, he calmly whispered to me that he'd seen Krycek's ghost, that they talked, and Mulder thought that his enemy loved me.

That's deadly true.

I'm grateful that my car windows are tinted, otherwise I'd be making a scene here. What a picture - a lonely man cries alone in his car in a corner of the dimly-lit parking lot, in the dark hours of the night.

The damn phone picks this moment to ring - or it’s been ringing for a while, but I didn't pick up the sound until now. Wiping my face roughly, I clear my throat twice before I answer it.

It's Judy. The party wasn't fun, so she went home early. She found my note, and wanted to know the why, the where and the when. I only tell her that she's not going to have any parties in my house. The smart girl says she'll charge me every penny’s worth of the time she maintains my house, so I'd better come back soon-- or not come back at all.

"Tell Antonio I'm sorry about leaving this suddenly-"

"Oh, pleeease, don't worry. I'll handle the rest, trust me."

That's the problem, I sigh.

Her voice holds a naughty amusement. "Uncle Walter, you're sooo romantic." I hear a smooch, then “Good luck,” and a click.

God, she knew! Just what did I write on that note?

I fish out a clean towel from the back of my seat, wiping the moisture first from my glasses, then from my face. I breathe deeply, feeling calmer. My mind is blank, my body led by instinct. I decide to go.

I have... nothing... to lose.

Three days later, I'm dehydrated.

The doctor just left five minutes ago, and the owner of the small hotel I stay in asked her son to sit with me. She was very proud of her boy, who studies Foreign Language in college.

The young man communicates with me well enough that I can forgo a little annoyance at his accent whenever he grabs the chance to practice his English. His eyes wander around curiously, and he's not shy about asking questions. But after a while, I can see he finds me no fun. With the lack of a topic to pass the boring time between a boy and an old man, I hand him the magazine with the page turned.

His eyes catch on the man I'm looking for. The boy moves closer to my bed and fingers Alex's picture. "I know him."

"Everybody knows this man." It's a bluff; I didn't dare to ask around, worrying that that would bring danger to Alex. But right now, I'm sick and desperate.

For two days, walking on the streets, I thumbed through some economics-related magazines. I only found one with his profile in it, and I couldn't read it; Arabic. Actually, there were some published in French, but I could only read them a little better than the Japanese. That means all I could do was clip his photos. I wanted to find more, hoping there would be something I could read. I tried too hard - and ended up sick in this bed.

"No, I really know him." The boy says with a grin so large that I can count all of his snow-white teeth.

Now that makes me wonder. "As in... ?"

He can't contain his excitement. "Summer break! Part-time job!" He spreads his hands exaggeratedly - he must have had a good time working for Alex. He nearly yells, "Last year, I worked on his farm. Saw him several times. He's cool."

Then he does a robot dance, imitating Alex's artificial arm.

"Where?" Sitting up, I feel way better than seconds ago. Hope flips in the pit of my stomach.

"Um..." He sobers a little, says warily, "I don't want to be rude, but Mr. Krycek only hires young men..."

Krycek? He still goes by this name, why? "Young men? What for?"

"All the labor on the farm, of course," the boy says with a sense of respect. "I worked on his cornfield last summer. Mr. Krycek took off his shirt and did the same job like the rest of us; got dirty and sweaty, stinking under the sun for hours. That's not an easy job for young people, never mind for people your age--" As a quick afterthought, he adds, "Sorry, I don't mean that you're old... It's just that now is the beginning of summer break, and it’s the last month of the corn harvesting. Student labor is more cheap than hiring adults - plus you're a foreigner. That's reason enough that he won't hire you, I think."

At the great worshipping of Alex that I can read in his eyes, I bark a laugh at my sudden jealousy, surging for no reason. "You don't have to explain, son."

I show the boy the picture I tore off from Alex's personal file (which I took with me when I retired from the FBI) to convince the boy I really was a friend of Alex. I say I’ve come to visit him and I’ve lost his address, which is a dumb lie, but boy can't see through it due to his good-natured, kind soul. My face must really look as sincere as my heart is.

The boy told me Alex won't be in his office in Tunis - he usually stays on the farm at this time of year.

Foum Tataouine -- this is the place the boy drew me on the map. The farm is located outside the town, so he arrowed details directing me straight to the field. I thought there'd be a problem hiring a taxi just for my own use, since everyone here has to wait for passengers to fill all the seats before the driver is willing to start the vehicle. But as soon I find one and tell the driver where I want to go, he repeats the location loudly to nobody, and three young men jump in to crowd me in the car. Then, we wait a few minutes, until another car full starts going to the same destination.

Hell, I'd pay double for a comfortable seat. Between the poor AC of the old cab, the heat of the daytime, and these smelly young men, I almost run away to rent a camel. But I realize that these people could be my best cover.

Our car drives past the cornfield to stop outside one of the two huge white tents. A lot of people are working on harvesting the corn, putting the crop into the left tent. I see no armed guards -- it's so not like what I'd predicted, so not like Alex. Everyone shares the pay and gets out of the cab. I follow the young men entering the other tent. Some of them give me an odd look, but I guess that's because I'm a foreigner. I'm too old to be a hired laborer here, so no one stops me from wandering off from the place where the laborers change into working clothes and take their shifts.

As I said, the tent is huge. It's almost the size of a barn; clean, cool and... quiet. People have already left for work - lights have been turned off, but the ACs are kept running. I wonder whether Alex is really here - if so, then he must have seen me on one of his monitors, and he’ll show up either to shoot me or to kiss me. I’m tiptoeing along the floor, trying to open a door so I can peer inside, when I hear the faint splash of water coming from a room at the far end of the tent.

I sneak up to the door – it’s a wide shower room. I look through the small window and am immediately attacked by emotion, bursting out from the deep of my heart.

He's there!

Just about fifteen feet away from me. Strong, solid and healthy.

Also wet and nude. Sunlight is shining through the open windows and absent breezes brush the curtains, making the small bells attached to them ring lazily. Alex shuts off the shower, shaking the water from his hair and running his hand over his face to wipe off the moisture. His every move is so manly and powerful.

I feel like crying - he is so alive, so vivid.

My heart is pounding, my mind is whirling with anything and everything I want to say to him. At the same time, my eyes can't tear away from him for a second. I seem permanently stuck right on this spot.

He turns, walking towards the other side of the room. My eyes follow his figure. Then, I feel as though I'm sinking down an endless tunnel - there's another person standing behind a thin curtain. A man - no, a boy. Very young, enough so to be my son.

The boy, dressed in working clothes like the others outside, walks up to Alex with an armload of towels. He wraps one around Alex's waist and, standing on his tiptoes, uses another one to dry Alex's hair. During all this, Alex has his eyes closed in complete trust, letting the boy comb his hair with bare hands. After that, Alex puts his hand behind the boy's head, and, smiling affectionately, pulls him in for a brief kiss on the forehead, murmuring something to him. The boy returns behind the curtain. Alex pulls off the towel wrapped around his waist, wiping himself dry, then discarding the towel on the floor.

A tear joins the sweat tracing a line down my cheek. I take a step back, telling myself that this is the end and I have to leave him alone. Alex has his life here and a new lover. He is safe and happy.

Another tear flows. Then another. And more.

I had this man to myself, thinking he was dead and our love lost forever; now that he's alive - and with a pretty boy - I lose everything; love, hope, and Alex.

I still want him. The need is so strong. Without him, my soul is so empty.

I don't want to leave.

Finally, I can't contain the pain in my tightening chest anymore. The tears break free, streaming down.

A sob escapes from me.

Alex jerks his head towards me, immediately yelling in Arabic. The boy hurriedly helps Alex put on a white gown and hands him a gun.

I still have a chance to run. He can't see me through the small window - the lights are off on this side. But I already gave up my survival instincts when I realized he was with the boy. I'd rather he shot me.

One bullet. Right to my heart.

Everything is mute except Alex, walking swiftly towards me. The distance is short between us, and it must be only seconds passing, but I clearly see every detail in slow motion. The wind flaps his gown, revealing the beauty of his body, and there is no expression of fear on his handsome face.

Squaring his shoulders, Alex lifts his gun and speaks loudly in Arabic. I suppose that's me he's talking to. Now, there's only the door between us; I thumb off the tears, straighten myself up, and slide the door open.

At the first sight of me, disbelief flashes across Alex's face. He narrows his eyes, trying hard to control his increasing breath. I step forward, out of the darkness I was in, to touch my chest to the gun Alex is still pointing at me.

We stare at each other.

"Go ahead and shoot me, Alex." I take three more steps. Alex backs off as fast as I venture forward, as though we're dancing in a fight.

"Shoot me!" I snarl; my emotion crashing down. All the years of guilt and self-hatred, loneliness and regrets, desperation and despair, wash through me. I grab his wrist and stab the gun hard into myself.

"No!" His saddened eyes widen. My other hand comes up to help him pull the trigger. Alex drops the gun and struggles to free his wrist from my grasp. I won't let him go. He's stronger than ever all right, but I'm still keeping in shape, too.

The boy takes the chance to pick up the gun and aim it at me.

"No!" Alex shouts, then talks grimly to the boy in Arabic.

"What? A lover's fight?" I taunt Alex, not my usual self; at this moment, I just want to die. "No need to. Let your new lover get rid of me for you."

Alex turns to face me angrily, the veins popping out on his neck, and spits, "It's you who’s got a pretty girl to live with, young enough to be your daughter! You goddamned cold bastard!"

"She's not my lover!" I don't know why I'm shouting at him. Even with Sharon I never lost it like this. "God, you came back? Why didn't you show up? There's so much pain..." I sniffle, ashamed of crying like a loser in front of the boy. I glance aside at the brat, then back to Alex in accusation. "So you couldn't wait to get yourself one, too, huh?"

"He's my son!" He roars, finally pulling his hand free from my hold, pointing his finger at the boy, eyes round, wildly gazing at me.

Suddenly, the only sounds to be heard in the shower room are my snuffling and Alex’s roughened breathing. We stare at each other again. The silence stretches.

His son... not a lover.

"Good... " My world begins spinning. The last thing I see is those white curtains flapping in the wind, and the last thing I hear is Alex worriedly calling my name.

It seems only a blink, but when I open my eyes, I'm lying on the wet floor with my head on Alex's lap.

"It's okay, Walter, I've got you." He smiles tightly down at me, then turns to ask his son for help. They walk me out of the shower room to a small office. He sets me on the couch, pokes me here and there, checking my pulse and eyes, touching my skin. After that, Alex caresses my jaw, saying gently, "Heat exhaustion."

Standing beside Alex, the boy watches us quietly. His eyes are wary, but I can see the cleverness in them.

"Coi. My adopted son." Alex says with an expression of something like fatherhood. This side of him feels like a stranger to me.

Time had made a lot of changes.

"Hey, Coi." We exchange reluctant and weird smiles. In fact, I'm still ridiculously suspecting he's warming Alex's bed at night, because the hostility is obvious behind those dark eyes.

Coi leaves the room.

"He’s gone to get my arm." Alex opens a bottled water for me.

"How do you know?"

Alex sighs. "I told you, he's my son. It's just one of our life routines." His fingers slip along the wrinkles on my face. I like that a lot. "Look - you're tired, you worry too much and you can't think straight at this moment. Sleep for a couple of hours, and I'll wake you up after the working hour. It ends at four."

I tug his hand when he stands up, trying my best to smile. "Don't leave me."

"I have to see what's taking Coi so long; I need to put on my arm and I still have work to do." Alex gently pries my hand off.

"But you just took a shower-"

"Paperwork, in my office." He pats me on the shoulder. "Rest. No one will disturb you. And don't forget your water." With that, he closes the door on me.

Even when I can no longer hear his footsteps, my mind keeps following him. There’s some difference about him I can't put my finger on... but he was always different. His skin is more than tan, darkened with lots of sun-burn flecks; his hair is slightly bleached at the ends, which I suppose is caused by the long hours working under the sun. He looks older, of course. His body is fit, square, toughened up by hard work. When we were first together, in Spain, he was so slim and a little pale. I remember his bright laughter and his passion, the pensive look on his face and the tears when he said he loved me. Then the goddamned awful Russian forest where he lost his arm. He's shitty, weak and murderous. We committed our love by blood; I let him mark me on the chest, and when his teeth sank into my flesh, I promised him that I would end his life if ever the time came. In the following years, I struggled with whether to implement my promise every time I thought things were getting to be too much. After I killed him, I had only those memories to keep me going.

And now, what am I going to do with him? No, how will he deal with me? Is he mad at me? Does he still love me, want me? He definitely doesn't need me. He has a son, he's not alone.

I stare at the fan humming above the window, expecting it to lure me into sleep...

Awakening from a certain feeling rather than actually hearing anything, I find Coi standing by the couch watching me.

"Coi," I sit up, sensing no hostility from the boy this time. "Where's Alex? Oh, sorry, you don't speak En-"

"I can. Basic." He hands me a white gown. "Dad said you can take a shower if you feel better."

Well, the clock says the time is past four thirty.

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to know you love my dad." Coi raises an eyebrow in challenge. I can see he trying hard to stay cool.

"Oh, and you're old enough to know if your dad loves me?" I raise an eyebrow, too.

Coi opens up his palm to show me a key, smiling smugly. "My dad's car key. He’s letting me drive his car to go home tonight. I think he want me out of the way. I think you'll get laid tonight. Does that count?"

Oh, so much for his 'basic' English. He speaks so straight to the point that it makes me blush.

"Ah huh... your dad always let you have his car when he enjoys his night?"

"No. I think you're my lucky card." He gives me a once over. "To answer your question, I think dad loves you; but I'm only 17, how would I know what love is?"

A sudden noise sounds from the shower room when Coi opens the door to leave. Those young men I came here with must have done their work for the day. I wait til they quiet down before going to take my shower. After changing into the clean white gown, I feel better.

The lights are all turned down now. I seem to be the last one in this huge tent. Outside, the sky is low, the sunset’s orange shades dying the cornfield, dreamlike, and permeating the tent through the windows.

"Alex?" My sound echoes in the hall. No answer. So I walk out of the tent, and there he is. "Alex."

He turns towards me, the light coming from the horizon making it so that I can't see his face. "Hungry?"

Yeah, but not for food. Walking up to him, I see his new arm. It's electric - no wonder the college boy did the robot dance. "You let your boy drive your car? He's only 17--"

"Are you here to lecture me?" To my surprise, Alex comes up to hold my hand, and tugs a stunned me to walk leisurely back inside.

I can't help a goofy grin. We never hold hands in public - well, if you count the middle of the desert with no one else but us as ‘public.’ I stop in front of the tent, looking down at our hands together.

"Come on, I'll cook something for us. Nothing fancy, though."

"I'll give you a hand," Oops. "Um... sorry."

"Don't be." Emotionless. He turns on the lights and leads me to the kitchen.

The dishes are really simple. Bread, corn soup, potato, some canned vegetables. No meat, but we open a red wine to toast.

There are no words from either of us. The glasses touch in silence. Dinner finishes in a short time.

"So, how did you find me, Walter?" Alex is drinking his wine with his feet stretched onto the other chair, very relaxed.

"A minute," I leave my seat to retrieve the magazine from my backpack, turning the page to show him. "Here."

Still emotionless, Alex closes up the magazine and pushes it back to me.

He knows there are too many puzzles I don't understand; why he's not dead, why he lives in the open without fear of being assassinated.

"You know, Walter, I only took my fair share from them." Alex looks at me, his gaze unwavering. After a short hesitation, he says, in a low voice, like giving confession, "I'm not sure if you've ever been on the scene of those burnings, or if you really paid attention to Mulder's reports and believe any of his suspicion towards me. I can confirm that I was involved with most of the events."

I remember those unrecognizable masses of burned bodies, and Mulder's accusations about Alex both off and on his reports. My breathing deepens.

"I've played too many sides, Walter," he says huskily. "I did my best to carry on what I believed could stop the invasion, no matter how cruel, evil or inhuman a man you think I became. I've paid my debts with my arm and my life--"

"Stop... please, Alex." I need some fresh air; what I feel is hanging in the space between us, unsaid.

He's on my heels out of the tent. The desert is pitch black now, but the twinkling stars are so breathtaking that you can't even think of aliens coming from one of them.

Sighing, I sit on the sandy ground, picking absently at the still-warm white dirt. "Alex, I'm not a saint. I can't judge everything you did."

Alex chuckles. "Really? Hope I can hold you to your words." He sits besides me. "The elders were burned for good, then I cut my leash, that smoking bastard, and no one else stood up to object my taking over from Strughold..."

"Who?"

"The man in control of some experiments taking place in Tunisia." He points to the cornfield, then to the two huge tents, "Good cover for the consortium rooting one of their important labs here, helping the colonization."

"I didn't see any lab equipments back in there."

"Of course you didn't. I got good price auctioning them on the ‘Net piece by piece." He winks. "Walter, the elders died, and the next generation won’t be back in force to deal with me or the rebels and healers anytime soon. But that doesn't mean some of them have stopped daydreaming about holding hands with the aliens in the near future."

I smile at the mention of the healers. "They brought you back."

"I've played out my cards. I’m no longer able to double spy. Also, I'm getting old --and we all die someday."

Silence stretches on.

"The world needs more people like Mulder and Scully; the believer and the scientist. And people like you, to stay on a higher level and on the right side. It takes a long time to do that; so here's my base, to save money and train new blood."

"Coi?" I can't imagine the boy becoming the next Alex Krycek.

"He'll go to the college, choose his own path." Again, I see the unfamiliar fatherhood in his eyes.

I envy the love they share. Father and son.

"And where would you put me? I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall." I can hear my whisper echoing in the desert, embarrassing by the tone of begging in my voice. I'm not a tough guy, Alex.

My sweat begins to soak the gown. I can feel the cotton sticking to my back.

Slowly, Alex's rough hand is pushing sand into the small hole I'm digging up subconsciously in the ground. It seems so lonely.

Suddenly, I come to realize that for the past years I spent thinking Alex was dead, he was also alone. I look straight into his eyes. We're holding our breaths.

No need to wait for an actual answer, his body language is enough.

"I think the other side of your bed is empty. Show me where it is?" I reach out to hold his hand, feeling confident. "You know, you are the best thing that ever fell from heaven to my arms."

Alex snorts. "I'm too old to hear this. You're embarrassing me, Walt."

But I see faith in those attractive orbs.

"Coi was right - I'm the lucky guy who's going to get laid tonight."

Alex bows his head, smiling. "That brat." God, I miss his soft bed-voice so much.

Together, we go back to the tent. There're too many plans we need to lay ahead, like quit my job first, phone my attorney next, find my missing agents at last, et cetera... Well, they all can wait till tomorrow - or the day after tomorrow. Right now, my body is anticipating the reunion of our connection, our love and our future.

"Walter?"

"Yes?"

"What I do is like a lifetime commitment-"

"Count me as a part of it." I grab him and kiss him hard.

The End